


safe from the cold

by trevino



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Morgan!whump, Multi, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:41:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26866822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trevino/pseuds/trevino
Summary: Derek Morgan knows all too well how emotions can destroy you. So he becomes guarded, protective of how he feels, because he doesn't ever want to feel powerless again.He never thought it'd happen to him, though. Not like this.This work takes place following the events of “No Way Out II: The Evilution of Frank”, but omits the beginning of season three. Gideon has already left the team, and Rossi is yet to arrive.)
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Eventual Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid - Relationship
Kudos: 28





	safe from the cold

**Author's Note:**

> (inspired by “may i” by trading yesterday)
> 
> there are a LOT of reid-whump fics on here, and i love them dearly, but i think we owe it to his character to allow him not to be hurt constantly. this fic will be fairly morgan centric, with moreid endgame (as you can expect from all of my works).
> 
> please comment and talk to me if you’d like! i love hearing from y’all :))

Elle quits, because confronting herself isn’t worth the risk.

Gideon walks away, and takes with him much of the team’s foundation.

Reid is tortured, nearly beyond repair as he heals slowly out of sight.

And everyone knows Morgan’s most painful memories, what he worked so hard to hide for so long.

This time, though, it’s just too much to bear.

~

Morgan had always been the strong one, at least in a physical regard— the team turned to him when it was time to break down a door or beat up an unsub. And he enjoyed that role, for the most part. It gave him a sense of purpose, a role in which he felt comfortable and confident.

It didn’t hurt, either, that focusing on his physical strength allowed him to completely ignore his mental weaknesses.

He knew, deep down, that it wasn’t exactly a “weakness,” to feel emotions heavily. But growing up without a father, and coming of age via Carl Buford’s abuse, taught him to compartmentalize, lock his feelings away so that they couldn’t hurt him like they once did.

And for the most part, it worked.

In their BAU cases, it was almost necessary to be emotionally detached. It prevented anything from clouding your judgement, and from developing unprofessional relationship dynamics in the field. Being too emotional destroyed Elle’s career, in the end. So Morgan learned from that, and his days on the Chicago police beat, to focus on the “what” rather than the “why” in his line of work.

He was praised for it, too. Hotch and Gideon admired his unflappable nature— his compartmentalization skills rivaled their newest agent’s, Emily Prentiss, and that was part of why they became quick friends (after the initial awkwardness, of course). He knew, though, that part of why he excelled at filtering out his emotional inputs was because he didn’t have anyone relying on him, at least when he clocked out of work. Instead, he went home to an empty house (save for Clooney, his lovable yet trouble-making Rottweiler-mix puppy), no children or spouse to consider before he interrogated a violent offender or stepped into a booby-trapped basement. 

No, he was alone, for the most part. At least that way, no one else had to be caught in the shrapnel when he exploded.

Which, though he would prefer not to admit it, had been happening more recently. 

The first time had been following their Fisher King case— well, getting nearly blown up in a mansion because _the damn pretty-boy agent didn’t let you know that the unsub had strapped himself to a bomb_ certainly merited at least a little bit of emotional turmoil. After that case, he had sat in his car in the empty FBI Academy parking deck, unmoving, for close to five hours. Most of that time was spent just convincing himself that yes, he, Hotch, and Reid had survived, and that the poor girl, Rebecca Bryant, had finally been released from her hell in captivity.

That time, the case’s outcome had been positive, at least. Losing the unsub wasn’t exactly what they had anticipated, but the victim survived. 

Some days, that’s a small miracle.

Other days, like the arduous few days he spent in an interrogation room in his native Chicago precinct, never feel miraculous, regardless of how things end.

It started off well, great even. He had celebrated his mother’s birthday with his sisters, spent a little bit of time at the rec center, and tossed a ball around with a few of the neighborhood kids. Simply put, it was exactly what he needed after the year he had had with the BAU. No doubt about it, he loved his job, but it certainly didn’t help him sleep any easier at night. It was nice, at least, to keep this part of his life— the comfortable nature of his family, his enjoyment of the familiar neighborhood, despite its problems— carefully guarded from the life he led as a federal agent. 

So when he’s accused of murder by Detective Stan Gordinski (and _of course_ it was Gordinski, that agent had always wanted to watch Derek go down, even when he was just a teenager), and his team arrives in Chicago to “save the day,” as it were?

Well, those walls that he set up so carefully— they all start to crumble down. 

But it’s not just _knowing_ that Gideon and Hotch (and most likely the rest of the team, by this point) are aware of exactly what made him the person he became. Because that hurts— it hurts like hell, like a wound he’d forgotten about for far too long, infected with repressed memories and the guilt of never speaking up. 

That’s nothing, though, compared to the way that they look at him when they fly back to Chicago.

They’re all giving him space, keeping their distance, as evidenced by the fact that he’s sitting alone in a space meant for two. Usually, he’s joined by JJ, or Reid, but the young blonde is conversing with Emily and the brilliant agent has his face buried in a book. Though, at the rate he’s turning the pages, Morgan’s not all too sure he’s even reading at all, or if the book in his hands is just a prop for his benefit. 

Hotch and Gideon had checked on him, after Buford’s arrest at the rec center, though he’d been fairly numb to what he had just experienced. He had stayed there as Gordinski and Dennison handcuffed the older man and carted him away; he watched them leave, knowing that unless he saw it happen, he wasn’t sure he’d believe it himself.

After all this time, Carl Buford would finally be held responsible for his heinous actions. Not all of them, of course (the statute of limitations had seen to that), but even one charge would be enough. Hopefully, Carl Buford would rot in prison.

Morgan wasn’t one for violent thoughts, not really, because he had seen time and again exactly how many people repented and made amends for their crimes. His job showed him the absolute worst of humanity, sure, but also the strength of those who had been wronged and done wrong themselves.

Buford, though?

If he never saw that man again, it would be far too soon. 

He didn’t like carrying that rage around, but he shouldered it all the same.

So he avoided gazes, and tried to pretend as if Garcia didn’t know exactly what happened in Chicago. She was a good actor, sure, but in their quiet moments interspersed with trash rom-com movie nights, he could feel exactly how much she wanted to ask him what happened, how he was feeling. Thankfully, though, they seemed to both agree (albeit silently) to never have that conversation.

The rest of the team seemed to process it quickly, and move on; he knew that they had all read the case file, learned exactly what kind of man Carl Buford really was, but they didn’t talk about it, at least with him. Their eyes told him what he assumed they were thinking— how could Morgan not report it, how would it affect his demeanor on the job, if they could trust him in the field— but luckily, it seemed, as time passed, that they were beginning to forget.

That is, except for Reid.

Reid, with his eidetic memory that seemed to only strengthen when it concerned his teammates or his friends. And along the way, Morgan and Reid had shifted past that first category and into the second. So, as much as he wished it wasn’t true, he knew that Reid knew every detail, committed it to memory instantly.

And that’s probably why it hurt so fucking bad when Reid found him, on one of the less-than-good days following the case in Chicago, in his parked car with his hands clenched around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. 

_“Morgan? What’re you doing here so late?” Reid had tapped on his passenger side window, which was a fortunate choice— if he had knocked on the driver’s side, Morgan wasn’t sure how he would’ve reacted. Regardless, he rolled down his tinted window so that he and Reid could look at each other face to face._

_His hands returned to their tight grip on the steering wheel. “I, uh…” He wasn’t exactly sure how to answer Reid’s question. After all, how exactly do you admit to your coworker-turned-friend that you’ve been in a state of near-constant panic for about three weeks, and that sometimes even driving home requires more emotional stability than he can muster?_

_Well, you don’t start by saying that. Not if you’re Morgan._

_Luckily, Reid nods, as if he can understand why Morgan’s been in the parking deck for an hour past the end of the work day simply by osmosis. He’s never been more glad for the kid’s perceptive abilities._

_“Are you, uh, okay?” And there Reid is again, with another question he’s uncertain of how to answer. So he responds instead with a strug and a tight smile, because words are harder to muster than he thought they’d be._

_If he opens his mouth, he fears, sobs will tumble out instead of coherent sentences._

_He looks up to see Reid’s concerned expression, and he wishes he had kept his head down. It’s easier that way, not knowing the look of— well, he knows it’s not pity, per se, but he can’t quite tell what Reid’s trying to convey— that crosses his friend’s face._

_“Do you want me to stay?”_

_Morgan almost smiles genuinely at that, because damn, Reid really is three-for-three in terms of impossible questions tonight. But he can’t quite summon the energy for that._

_“I’m…. okay. I’ll be okay,” Morgan forces out, relying on short sentences to prevent any unnecessary or unplanned emotional unloading on the poor kid. Reid’s been having a hard year too, like the rest of them, and he doesn’t want to be a burden._

_“Okay, I’ll back off, Morgan. But if you need me, I’m not far away,” Reid reminds him, acknowledging the relative proximity between his house and the younger man’s apartment._

_“Thank you, pretty boy,” Morgan replies, and almost curses himself for the use of the nickname. He’s called Reid that for almost two years at this point, but now, he’s doubting almost every word that leaves his lips._

_When he looks up again, Reid’s gone, but there’s a smiley face drawn in the haze of condensation on his back window._

And, though he feels it’s impossible at the time, he’s able to look the rest of the team in the eye more and more as the weeks pass. It helps, having Emily around, since she’s not fully engrossed in the team dynamics like the rest of them. So he continues with his job, meets Frank for the first time (and damn, he really hopes he’ll never have to step foot in a diner again, because memories of that man with a strawberry milkshake tend to haunt his dreams from now on), and tries to push away thoughts of anything that don’t pertain to solving cases.

Until Reid gets kidnapped and tortured, as they watch on a video screen.

That’s something his brain just can’t filter out so easily.

Because that’s his best friend (and he didn’t expect that term to feel quite so natural, particularly in adulthood, but it does), and they’re helpless as they watch Tobias Hankel’s three personalities abuse him for nearly two days. 

He nearly explodes there, in that musty house in Georgia in front of his team, multiple times— when JJ tells him about how they split up to find Hankel, when she asks for his forgiveness (that he’s not sure he knows how to give), when Hankel plays Russian roulette with a nearly-unconscious Reid, when Reid chooses a family to save- and one to die as a result, when he’s strangled and brought back to life (and though Morgan doesn’t believe in God, he considers sending up a prayer for that miracle), when they find him near the grave he was forced to dig for his own frail body. 

Nothing will help him wipe the image of Reid, beaten and close to death, from his brain. 

After the case in Georgia, he takes time off (he’s fairly certain Hotch would’ve insisted on it anyway), and does nothing but sit in his living room and think.

The first few days he spent nearly all his time worried about Reid and checking in on him via phone calls and text messages, until the younger man called him and said, in no uncertain terms, _Morgan I swear to God I’m going to be okay but you sound like a wreck right now, so I think you need to worry about yourself too_. There was no malice behind the words— and even if there had been, Reid’s recent experiences had certainly warranted him a little bit of misplaced anger— and the kid was right, honestly.

But being alone with his thoughts, and “worrying about himself” as Reid had suggested, had led him down a path he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be on.

He didn’t need an eidetic memory to know he’d never forget those images of Reid during his torture, or the feelings of sheer uselessness that captivated him when they couldn’t locate Hankel’s hiding place. No, there was no forgetting what they experienced in Georgia.

And though he hadn’t been able to cry for himself, after the Carl Buford case weeks earlier— that, or he hadn’t wanted to allow himself to cry then— the tears fell rapidly when he thought about Reid.

Because what the hell is the point of being the “strong one” on their team if he can’t keep Reid (or any of them, for that matter) safe? And in that case, if he _can’t_ protect them, then why is he even there?

Those thoughts haunted him, instead of thoughts about his own trauma; they were enough to destroy him on his own, anyway.

They nearly did, too, in his two day break from the BAU following the Hankel case.

He typically locked his guns (he had started carrying two since the first meeting with Frank, one on his waist and another clipped to his ankle like Hotch did) in a protective cabinet by the fireplace. Out of sight, out of mind, until he went in for work.

But when he returned to his house after the Georgia case, his guns instead sat on the living room table. He wasn’t sure why— for protection, self defense, or something else— but it helped, seeing them.

Helped, or hurt.

He wasn’t so sure of the difference anymore.

As Reid recovered (physically at least, as his mental status was far from clear), Morgan did too, step by step. He watched Reid struggle with an addiction neither quite knew how to talk about, and he helped when he could. He watched Emily come into her own as an agent of the BAU, and he admired her perseverance in a field that so often pushed women out of the way in favor of inferior men. He watched his team, as they solved difficult cases and became better agents before it.

He watched, in the end, as the job— the one he loved, the one that simply wouldn’t exist without him— destroyed Agent Gideon completely.

It started off so simple, and complicated at the same time— Frank came to D.C. to find Jane and wreaked havoc on Gideon’s personal life in the process. The older agent hid out with Garcia to evade police (and upper FBI bureaucrat) scrutiny in hopes of apprehending Frank alongside the rest of the team.

When Frank killed Rebecca Bryant, though, that changed the game completely.

The entire team was aware of Gideon’s focus on the victims and survivors rather than the perpetrators themselves, once cases were closed. It was perhaps the only way the man, after so many years, could stick with such a traumatizing job. And it wasn’t a secret, but it was a rarely-discussed facet of the man’s personality.

Frank, of course, exploited it, and took with it everything about Gideon that had kept him fighting for a sense of justice that almost seemed helpless in their line of work.

With Frank and Jane dead— _case closed_ , he remarked bitterly to himself— Gideon retreated. Sarah’s death, as well as Rebecca Bryant’s and the kidnapping of Tracy Belle, were the last remaining pieces of a very precarious house of cards.

So Gideon left.

And Morgan found himself, again, alone in his house with nothing more than his dog and his thoughts.

But this time, he was staring down the barrel of a gun; and it was only him who knew his fate this time. 


End file.
